


Bibliophilia

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Books, Other, Paraphilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4581504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea on the kink-meme was, Norrell has an evening in with his books and gets rather randy. When he's in an incriminating position, Childermass comes in and thinks, "Oh great, not again".</p>
<p>Anyone who's read the rest of my stories can see there's a problem here.</p>
<p>I did, however, put my own stamp on it (er, <i>yay?</i>. If you like the stamp I put on my stories).</p>
<p>The sex scene has had a full re-write since it was on the kink-meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bibliophilia

Norrell had gone to nearly some of a party. His nerves were jangled, and he had left Lascelles and Drawlight in full possession, probably telling inaccuracies about English Magic, and he was two glasses of port drunk on top of probably not enough dinner.

He was in the mood for a quiet night in with his books, in a completely un-studious way that would leave him wrecked enough to sleep rather than concentrate, and it had been a month or two since he’d indulged himself. Also, Childermass was out tonight.

All those books…such distinct and interesting pleasures to the senses. He always started by dragging a heap of magically-safe works into the middle of the floor so he could read from them in different languages. He loved the taste and the feel of the different words on his tongue, and it always left him regretting that he had relatively few magically-inert works to play that game with. Because if he tried that with _most_ of the books in the library, he’d end up colouring himself pale purple or attracting a fairy-servant or, worse, spiders, or opening a portal to Hell or Faery in his library, which would be most inconvenient. Instead, making himself a ‘safe zone’ of not-too-magical works, he lay down in the middle of it, and settled to reading out Greek poetry. Since his understanding of Greek was much weaker than his knowledge of Latin, he had the sense that he was sounding out strange things that prickled on his tongue like magic, but they were safe to play with (needing something _else_ to play with by this time, he slid an impatient hand down the front of his shirt to pinch at his nipples).

He put those books back. As long as he kept from reading aloud, he could play with his magic books, and the extra _frisson_ of danger joined with the extra excitement of quite how different, how powerful, how _ancient_ some of those books were, because that was also a feast for his senses. He cautiously chose about twenty and made them into another ‘nest’ in the middle of the floor, moaning as he thought of how small a collection of twenty was when considering quite how _large_ his whole library was, and how he wanted to strip naked and rub the whole lot of it over his skin, turn it into a _lake_ and _dive_ in it—and oh, he’d never last if he was thinking like that this early!

Norrell could class most books of magic by age using his nose alone, because the patterns of decay and dust, the paper or parchment, even the _ink_ changed over time, and he could tell Aureate from Argentine from merely modern at a whiff, and he had to ration himself because over the course of an evening the smell would send him giddy if he just breathed in long breaths of it all the time.

Instead, he pulled different ones to his nose for a good sniff, every so often fell back on the floor almost swooning with the pleasure of it. He wanted to have all the books, all of them at once, and when he sniffed one and rubbed a fist between his legs he nearly _hurt_ with the need to come.

No. He got up, shakily. He put some of the books back, and now chose a different armful of books. This time, he was selecting for texture, for appealing bindings. Some of them were interestingly scratchy and rough, so he stripped off his shirt and waistcoat and rubbed them over his front, feeling a flush of heat and the stiffening of his nipples. He pressed the corners against himself so he was being nibbled, bitten by his books. Finally, he settled to finding an armful of books with beautifully soft, silky, almost velvety bindings, and passing them gently across different parts of his skin. He really wanted to take his breeches and small-clothes down (relieving the pressure on what was now quite a sizeable cock-stand) and rub the books slowly and gently against his prick.

He dared not, obviously. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to defile his books, but let alone the trouble he’d get into with magic if he found himself intoning spells, if he…misused…a magic book in that manner he’d get himself in a world of trouble. He’d spilt coffee on a book once and found its spells were developing side-effects; and compared to that, a magician’s seed was hardly a magically-inert substance.

He cursed under his breath. He wanted another book. It was right across the room on another bookshelf and might as well be on the moon considering his legs were just reaching the wobbly stage. Well, he’d just have to finish in his hand and _hope_ not to get it on the books, because by now, not finishing was approaching being not-an-option. So he undid himself and slapped it into his hand with a groan of pleasure, collapsing backward onto the desk in the hope that it might keep the books inviolate.

At this inopportune moment, the door opened.

“Oh gawd, not _again!”_ muttered Childermass.

Norrell thought pretty-much the same thing. Childermass had ruined the last time he’d stayed in the library to have fun, as well. He hadn’t been able to look Childermass in the face for a month.

Well, this time he was d—ned-well going to face it out (a decision which had at least as much to do with the state of his balls as the state of his mind, but he would stick by it).

He ordered Childermass to fetch him the book across the room. “Book on the lowest shelf, a book on estate law with absolutely no value to anyone, lusciously-smooth green binding. Then get out.”

He should have remembered Childermass wasn’t good at obeying orders. Apparently, seeing Norrell get caught out with his books and be all upset and sulky and miserable the other month did not excite Childermass. Apparently, seeing Norrell get all lewd and imperious and shameless _did._

Childermass fetched him the book, but did not leave him to enjoy it in peace. Instead, he dragged a complaining Norrell to his feet and dragged him close, and Norrell thought, _oh yes, people generally do it with people rather than with books,_ as he felt Childermass press quite a sizeable erection against him. Then Childermass nibbled his neck, which made him even more interested, and said, “I’ll make you wait for the book.”

Childermass manhandled them both towards the chair, and removed Norrell’s breeches and small-clothes, pushing them down. Then he adjusted his own dress similarly. “If you sit on me, I’ll let you ‘ave the book. If you sit on me _and wriggle,_ I’ll let you _really_ ‘ave the book,” he said, with an audible leer.

Norrell felt a strange and unaccustomed difficulty in choosing between human cock and book-leather. He moaned complainingly, because he’d always enjoyed not having to feel self-conscious about another person and just indulge himself, but now he wanted both. He wriggled in place as eagerly as he could without unseating himself.

Childermass bit him gently. “One book?” he suggested. and slid it almost within reach. “Of course, I know what you _really_ want,” he whispered. “You’re so greedy you want to fuck your entire library…”

“Nine thousand, six hundred and fifty-four books,” said Norrell.

“…and if you could you’d rut on all of them, come gallons, leave your juice on every page and every cover,” said Childermass, “I bet your balls are _so_ full by this time.”

Norrell moaned, agreeing entirely, although a wisp of practicality argued that he wasn’t   
_quite_ full enough to defile his entire library, although he liked the thought.

“But at the moment you’ve got this one, what did y’ call it, ‘lusciously-soft’ bound book to rub on your cock.”

Norrell gasped, “Please!”

“Feels nice on your cock, I bet it does,” said Childermass, and slid it gently against him, moving it delicately towards and away, towards and away, until Norrell was nearly humping the air to get at it properly.

Norrell whined, grabbed Childermass’s wrists, and dragged him so that the book was full against him, Childermass’s big heavy hand curving it so it pressed all over his cock.

Norrell wriggled back against him once he was getting what he wanted. The warmth of Childermass moving against his bum was delightful anyway, and combined with the feel of a book with a really, mm, _sumptuous_ binding, it was just about perfect. “Want it, want to _fuck_ my whole library!” he gasped, as he felt himself go, “want you to _come_ on me, want to _come!”_ as both of them came off, furious shudders and wrung-out gasps as they took their pleasure and fell in an exhausted heap.

“Now clean me up,” said Norrell, eventually.

“Giving me orders won’t go so far when I’m not in the mood,” said Childermass, “but all right.” He wiped them up, and came back to cuddle. He sniggered. “Never met anybody before with a ‘wanking section’ in their library.”

Norrell chuckled weakly. “Never met anybody before who was quite so enthusiastic about joining in.”

“All right, we’re _both_ bloody perverted,” said Childermass.

“It was more fun than being moral and upset and embarrassed,” said Norrell. He thought back. “Actually, it was _lots_ more fun than that.”

“No argument here,’ said Childermass. “D’you always need the books?”

“Well, I always _enjoy_ the books,” said Norrell thoughtfully, “but I’m capable of managing a…human connection without that. Probably. It’s largely theoretical at this stage.”

“Bloody ‘ell, I seduced a _virgin_ ,” Childermass complained, “and he’s discussing whether or not he can manage sex without adding half a library.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Norrell. “I’m quite experienced, with books. I have no doubt I could eventually manage to be semi-competent with people.” He yawned. “People…snuggle. I’m rather looking forward to trying that.”

“Less corners than books. I knew there was something to be said for us,” said Childermass.

“Go up to bed and prepare to convince me,” said Norrell. “Whichever of our beds is bigger. I’ll be up in a moment, I need to throw away a despoiled book. One must have _some_ standards.” He wasn’t _quite_ odd enough about inanimate objects to want to retire his…soiled doves the way a normal man might want to retire a once-loved mistress.

What he wanted now was a nice warm armful.

Books were exceptionally bad at that, he decided, as he went up to bed.


End file.
